La Cirque
by xStaticxTelevisionx
Summary: So what exactly is going on down in the prison? Alice has been captured, and Joker has won. How is she dealing with the loss of her freedom, and how is he faring with her rage? (CU. Alice now has a role.)
1. Chapter 1

**SURPRISE MOTHAFUCKA!**

 **I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me. At least for a little while.**

 **God I am such meme trash.**

 **-Static**

 **/*\**

Blood trickled onto the floor, leaking slowly from the long gash on the man's neck. The Warden stood there, bullwhip in hand, staring down at the forming red river. He should move out of the way. Soon it would stain his boots, and god were bloodstains hard to get rid of.

Despite his boots he chose to stay, staring down at the corpse until it vanished. He could just get the circus folk to clean up. They always did, for fear of being returned to the cells. He'd just call down a few of the acrobats. They weren't practicing right now. His counterpart wouldn't care, so it was a nonissue.

He asked the Harlequin to send down the workers and they cleaned. They scrubbed the floors voraciously, and a single terrified child gingerly picked up the clock and scampered away. They were tidying up like their lives depended on it.

He wondered why. Though the Warden didn't think of himself as a "nice guy" he certainly wasn't so cruel as to warrant this amount of fear.

But he knew someone who was.

"She's getting anxious." The Harlequin stated, materializing behind his counterpart. The Warden let his one eye lazily turn to his "twin".

"Is she now?" He asked.

"This part of the prison is just close enough for her to hear, but far enough away that she can't pick out fine details. She's wondering if you got hurt."

"And how would you know?" The Warden drawled. He wasn't particularly interested, but…

He was interested. How is it, that the circus clown can profile her so much better than he could? He could understand her, yes, but the Harlequin knew her better despite spending less time with her. Maybe….

Well maybe it was for the same reason that his sociopathic twin was so much worse. He was charming, yet cruel. He put on enough facades to fool his observers for years, but he never really felt anything. He could feel passionately, but could not appreciate any kind of simple pleasure. He knew nothing of how it felt to watch the sunrise, or to take the last piece of a favored sweet. He could not share in another's happiness.

He could not share in their pain.

The Circus Clown was emotionally barren, and it was this curse that allowed him to so intimately understand others.

The Warden yawned. It was for that very reason that _he_ was the Warden instead of the Jester. He could draw lines, where the Harlequin would commit crimes that would make his other half vomit.

The prisoners were always pissing themselves when he let "White" take charge for the day.

"Black" turned away from the dissipating blood puddle.

"I'll go talk to her." He said, walking towards the center of the prison. "Make sure your slackers don't leave my floor stained. Completely ruins the look of the block." White waved him off and glanced down at his subordinates, who were all staring at him nervously. He smiled deceptively sweetly.

"You heard him."

/*\

The Dragon _looked_ calm. She sat quietly in her giant silver cage. Her knees were folded under her, and her hands sat in her lap. Her wings were tucked neatly into her back, and not a single hair was out of place. Her eyes were closed and she was entirely still. At a first glance, she could have been mistaken for a perfect marble statue, but for the slight twitching of her tail.

She looked as though she were meditating, as peaceful as could be.

And that was how she wanted it.

The Warden loved to rile her up. He'd say anything that might get a rise from her. When he got the reaction he wanted he'd continue, poking and prodding until she exploded. In the beginning it worked. He could make her so angry that she'd incinerate any and all cell blocks surrounding her own tiny prison, and he loved it.

After the fifth incident, the Warden had decided that he needed to evacuate those blocks. He used them for the odd death row inmate, but that was it. Though she'd never actually say so, she liked having the extra privacy and he knew it. He would keep poking and prodding, and she had gotten absolutely sick of it.

Despite the promises made to her by Joker, she felt like an animal. Her cage looked far better fit for a beast than a person, with the tiniest private lavatory in the corner and walls made strictly of steel and silver bars. She was entirely isolated but for the odd conversation with her captor. When she wanted to sleep he would drape the cage in a large velvet curtain, as though she were a sensitive canary who would spook at the slightest spark of unanticipated movement.

The only positive thing she could say for this place was that the food was good. The food that was only ever delivered by a disguised servant.

She could hear the tapping of his boots against the cold stone floor. His riding crop slapping against the bars of the long-abandoned cells. Soon, she could smell his sweat in the room, and his presence seemed to almost taint the air. He'd arrived. She didn't need to open her eyes to know that he'd grazed his fingertips along the electrified bars separating them.

Why didn't they hurt _him_?

"Hello Warden." The dragon said, opening her eyes and standing up. Her captor inclined his head.

"Good evening, Alice." He answered. His tone was quiet, polite and tranquil. Something she once thought impossible for him.

"How are you?" She asked nonchalantly. It wasn't that she didn't care.

It was that she cared too much.

"I'm fine." He answered. He then switched his whip to his other hand and held out his wrist. "The blood isn't mine, though I'm sure you've noticed by now." Any normal person would think that the information bored Alice to the bone, but with that one flick of her tail, the slight relaxation of the muscles in her wings, the way her face just barely lost some of its tension, he knew.

She really had been worried.

How stupid of her.

But flattering as well.

"I know," she answered brusquely, "I am imprisoned, not disabled." And with that she turned her back to him.

Sometimes the Warden felt disgusted by the Dragon's clothing choices. Well not _disgusted,_ but he didn't want to think about what it really was. The admiration, the approval, the want… it was just better to pretend it was disgust. He once spoke up on the matter, but instead of getting angry as he'd expected, she had only shrugged. She'd stated that as a non-human entity, their rules did not apply to her, and ignored him for the next several time periods.

He hadn't known what to do with that.

The Dragon moved about her cage. Not at peace nor contented, but not the raving enraged mess that she'd been during her first few weeks. Alice had been so angry at them, him, whatever Joker was. She had murdered both Black and White multiple times, but they always returned.

Always. And she could not escape them.

Eventually she learned not to let his comments get to her. It was all bark, no bite. It hadn't taken long for him to grow bored. She had learned to reign in her annoyance, and to send her mild anger other places. She learned to school her face into an impassive mask, and she managed to force most of her nervous ticks out of existence. Her wings remained stony, her face completely blank. She became the pinnacle of indifference. He ignored her a while, let the Harlequin take his place as her conversational partner, and then he returned.

He was quieter, and far less bold in the words he used. He no longer swore around her, and acknowledged her properly. He was "kind" enough to address her as though she were a queen, rather than his captive.

When she didn't react he'd smelled confused. He'd smelled confused ever since, up until today.

"Then why did you look worried?" He asked, the ghost of a smile gracing his lips. Though the game was a little different, it was just as riveting, if not more so. He'd finally figured it out.

Once, Alice was a temperamental tsunami. The tiniest prod would devour seashores, and the smallest of sweet gestures would make her retreat back into the ocean, appearing as nothing more than a few tranquil waves. The calmest ocean to ever exist.

Now? Instead of a tsunami she was a volcano, spitting fire in her rare fits of rage, and remaining warm yet ever dangerous in her dormant demeanor. Her audience waiting for her to explode.

Just because she was different, it didn't mean it was bad.

"I wasn't." She answered, and then she smiled.

For a moment the Warden was dumbstruck.

He hadn't seen her smile since she was human.

Her face lit up exactly the same, the sharpness of her cheekbones offset by the youthful roundness her smile afforded her. She absolutely radiated warmth, a warmth that belonged to a Foreigner, not any of the things that they all had become.

It was different, though. Her reptilian eyes glowed a bright shade of blue, just a little too bright to truly mimic humanity. Her skin lacked color in its entirety, leaving her to look like a perfect porcelain doll if she stood still enough. Her incisors were too long, they should have cut right through her lower lip.

She was the same, but not.

To this day, Joker wasn't sure just how he felt about that.

"If I was worried about anything, it was that I might not get to eat well anymore." And with that, she turned away, her long whitish-blond hair completely masking the mischievous and triumphant smirk decorating her face.

"What do you mean?" The Warden asked, not giving her a reaction any more than she would give to him. This was a game for two, not one.

"You know exactly what I mean." She said flippantly. "You think a mere disguise can fool me?"

For several moments, there was no sound. For a moment Alice wondered if he'd teleported away. She was debating whether or not she wanted to check if he was there when she felt a hand touch her shoulder. She whirled.

Not once in the three months she'd spent as his prisoner did he intrude on her this way. She was startled and just a tad panicked. He'd agreed that he would not enter her space, if she did not use her power to exit the cage.

"I can't have my most distinguished prisoner eating slop." He answered, before smiling and vanishing into thin air. He was there one moment and then he wasn't, as though he were made of air himself. For a moment, Alice couldn't help but to bristle. She hadn't forgotten how it felt to lose, to have someone else assert their own power over her. At the same time…

She wondered why she'd come to trust him.

She hurled mental abuses at herself in irritation. He was her captor. He was the reason that she lived in a _cage_. He was the reason she couldn't see her friends or family. He was the reason she could not fly.

He was the reason she was so damn _angry_ all the time. She whirled and marched back to her bed. He wasn't going to get the best of her, not in the slightest. She wasn't going to humor him anymore. She reached to pull down the covers and climb in when something caught her eye. A little pastry bag with a note on it.

 _Ace says you like these, "Your Highness."_

 _-J_

Alice tore off a piece of whatever was in the bag and popped it into her mouth. Rum cake. For a moment she was entirely still, and she collected herself. She took a deep breath, and turned her gaze to an abandoned cell, one of the only tiny rooms that still possessed furniture. One moment all was well and the next, well, it almost looked like someone had set off a bomb.

Except there was no one, with no bomb.

With that Alice let herself fall asleep.

And her captor watched from the shadows, the amused glint in his eye betraying himself.

 **/*\**

 **Some behind-the-scenes for the portion of New Game where Alice has recently been imprisoned by Joker. I wanted to write about her time in the cage, and the conversations she might have with the devious duo, but at the same time I have other characters I need to stop ignoring. So here's my compromise.**

 **New Game will go on as planned, and in return for your patience, I shall be writing this as well, though it probably will not tie in directly to New Game itself.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **-Static**


	2. Chapter 2

**Greetings, friends. Care for some more JokerxAlice?**

 **If you do, R &R?**

 **-Static**

 **/*\**

As soon as the curtain fell, she let out the breath she'd been holding. Finally night had arrived, and she could have some semblance of privacy.

As the curtain covered the cage she stood. Her bare feet glided over the soft rugs that her friends had smuggled in and persuaded him to let her keep, and she approached her bed. She lifted the covers and reached under one of her two pillows.

Her talons soon extracted what looked to be a small book. The paper was pale and uneven, the binding inexpertly done, and it was nondescript but for the various new scorch marks marring the smooth leather covering. A small smirk adorned her face.

Her captor had tried to get into it again, but as always, her magic proved to be too strong. He had failed once more, and had most likely gotten horrendous burns as a result. She thought he would have learned his lesson by now, but clearly not.

She wondered why she hadn't heard him scream in pain.

She opened the tiny book and pulled a pencil out of her sleeve. The tiny diary was the only reason she hadn't lost her mind yet.

The days in the prison were dull. She woke up at _this_ time, she ate every _three_ time periods, she was allowed to bathe _once_ a day and so on. Her existence was droll and predictable, and the only freedom she had was the ability to walk more than fifty feet in one direction.

Her cage was far larger than the ordinary cells in the block. It was, after all, built for a _dragon_ in its truest form. Despite this she chose to remain in her humanesque facade, a fraction of a fraction of her monstrous size. She'd hoped that maintaining this tiny shape might help the cage feel a bit bigger.

How wrong that assumption had been.

She pushed her feet under the silken sheets and pulled the covers up over her lap, legs crossed. She opened the book to the next blank page, and let her pen skitter across the paper. She didn't write as fast as she was capable, but she didn't take too much time for each letter. This was the only reprieve she was ever afforded, and she fervently wished that her sentence would end soon.

/*\

He was not ignorant of her nightly sessions. When the curtain fell she let herself loose. She would relax and she would write. It was a fascinating transformation to behold.

When he gazed upon her during the day, it was almost as if she were and inanimate object. Each time he saw her she was perfectly still, the rise and fall of her chest and the occasional word or two being the only indication that she was a living, breathing entity. She was cold and unfeeling, and absolutely no fun to play with.

However, when it came time to cover up her cage the most interesting thing would happen. He could hear the bedsheets rustling. Not an unusual occurrence, considering the curtain was for the express purpose of allowing her to sleep unobserved. She was a queen, and so was entitled to certain dignities even if she _was_ his prisoner.

No, when bedtime came her silhouette relaxed. Her wings lost the sharp edge, and the sound of her tail sliding lazily. Then she would take a few moments to get comfortable. Once she finished fluffing her pillows, her head would bow and it almost sounded like she was writing. There was no mistaking the characteristic scratch of the pen against paper, for it was an activity that both he and his counterpart engaged in. The shadow almost looked human.

So one day he decided he wanted to investigate it. He knew she loved baths, so he had allowed her to use the private bathhouse with his counterpart keeping guard. He'd told her that she could stay as long as she wanted, as a reward for good behavior. It was a flimsy excuse, but though she clearly didn't believe him he was willing to wager that she wouldn't turn her nose up at a few hours in the hot spring.

After several moments, his assumption had been proved correct.

It had taken him two hours to find the damn thing, and according to the little mask on his belt the Jabberwocky was still relaxing in the water. It was assured. He had plenty of time to snoop through the contraband article. His fingers barely touched the faded brown leather when _fwoosh!_

The notebook had caught fire, purple and blue flames flying and spreading, and his hand had burned considerably.

He swore and shook his hand, trying to put out the fire and spitting threats at the mask as it dissolved into hysterics.

/*\

Unbeknownst to them, the Jabberwocky could feel it each and every time they attempted to meddle with her personal belonging. It was her magic protecting it, and it doubled not only as the precious books guardian but also her alarm.

She knew it the moment that he tried to open it, and she couldn't help the smile that spread over her face as the faint sound of swearing assailed her ears.

She sank deeper into the spring, enjoying every second of it.

/*\

Naturally he had been irate and enraged. This woman had outsmarted him once before, but in every other encounter he'd had with her she had needed outside help. Once upon a time she had been at his mercy, and each visit was dictated by his terms and no one else's.

Now she was a formidable enemy, with even more formidable tactics.

But even as he lamented her newfound power, he also found himself wanting to rise to the challenge. It wasn't often that he encountered a Role-Holder who wielded power equal to his own. Though the notion annoyed him it also intrigued him.

For once he might not be so bored, and so he didn't punish her. Instead, he let her keep her little secret. He would let her think that she'd managed to hide something from him within his domain, and only when he found out what was written inside would he make her get rid of it.

It was petty, he knew, but she needed to understand something. He was the ruling power here, not her.

/*\

For weeks it went this way. Once every few days – he'd gotten so desperate – he would allow her to leave the cage and take a trip to the hot springs, accompanied by a guard of his choosing. She would be allowed to stay out as long as she wanted, which was never less than three and a half hours.

It would be during this time that he would test the mettle of her magic.

He tried various things. Ensnaring it with his whip, covering his hands in fireproof material, and even trying to dip the thing in a bucket of water. Nothing ever worked. It hadn't taken him long to try other magic, and it was vexing to say the least. His power was weaker than hers, and she had laid the perfect trap.

No one like being burned, figuratively or otherwise. It wasn't until he began to consult the old books on his shelves that he was able to figure out the one weakness of the harsh defense blocking his intrusion.

As he thought more and more about it, the more idiotic he felt. Yes, it hurt _him_ but that was it.

The enchanted flames caused damage to the intruder, but any and all other objects or people remained unharmed, and though he would never admit it, the Warden felt incredibly stupid for not having realized it sooner.

/*\

When it came time for the Jabberwocky's next outing, he could hardly wait for the prison door to close behind her before he warped himself into the cage. True, he could have just used the key and the door but there was nothing quite like the sensation of abusing his power. He'd gotten too impatient anyways.

He draped himself with one of the sheets off her bed. Thick enough to protect him, thin enough that he might still get a reaction and hide his treachery. At this point he suspected she knew what he was doing.

There were always scorch marks left behind.

He took a deep breath. He wasn't entirely sure if this would work. Nothing else had, and if this didn't he might very well have to admit defeat.

The Warden was not a man who liked to lose.

He mentally berated himself. He was Joker. All but one person in Wonderland feared him, and with the exception of her he was the most powerful person in the physical world. Without the slightest bit of hesitation, he lifted the book.

Yes, the heat of the fire exploded all over the place. Flames pretended to devour the mattress and crawl up the walls. He could feel the warmth trying to penetrate the sheet to get to his skin. The magic knew that he should not be the one accessing this book, but it also knew that it was forbidden to harm any of its master's personal possessions.

Turning the pages, he grinned. He'd found the loophole.

/*\

The Jabberwocky knew it the moment that her diary had been violated. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips curved into a frown. He'd figured it out. He knew everything she thought of the prison, and everything she thought of him.

It wasn't as if her opinions had been a secret. She hated the prison and she hated him for keeping her there. It wasn't an irrational line of thinking, and there was nothing in the book that he didn't already know.

However he thought there was, he wanted to find out, and he'd spent weeks going out of his way to do so.

Perhaps she could use this against him. She didn't dislike him per se, but he was hardly her favorite. Joker was a dastardly man, but the Warden at least had some compassion. He was definitely the more human of the two, and in spite of his harsh exterior was far less likely to use anything he found out to legitimately hurt her.

So yes, she might be inclined to have a little fun with this but given how well she was treated within the prison she would take some mercy on him.

Some.

"Alice," the Harlequin called, "We should be going. The circus is tonight and I can't be late."

/*\

The Warden suspected that she knew. It had been several days since he'd figured out how to fool the spell on the diary, but contrary to his original plan he had not confiscated it.

Her descriptions of her new life were dull indeed, but it was to be expected. She was imprisoned, and she was forced to live out the same day over and over again. Her writing was for the express purpose of alleviating her boredom.

However despite the dull narratives of her physical life, her inner thoughts were much more intriguing.

Her opinion of him puzzled him. He showed up fairly often in her tiny stories. Not unreasonable, since he was often the only other person she saw with the minor exceptions of the Executioner and even sometimes the Clock Master. However her narrations baffled him.

She hated him. It was clear, and though it mildly angered him he could not blame her. He'd taken everything from her. He made her live in a cage. He made her abandon her country and give up what little life she had left. Yes, he had a good reason – she'd almost destroyed Wonderland for fucks sake! – but that didn't change the fact that she was still Alice.

She was the Foreigner, one of the only people to ever give him a kind word or a warm smile. She was the only person who didn't completely detest him and his existence, and though it had been his job he hadn't _wanted_ to imprison her.

But that didn't matter. Yes, she hated him but she still managed to find a scrap of good in him. As much as he always bristled when she called him "the nice one" he secretly appreciated it. His line of work was a thankless one, his absurd counterpart his only friend, family, whatever their relationship could be called.

So he decided to let her keep her secret. Though she had plenty cruel words for him, she still wrote in his favor.

In spite of himself, he wanted to read more.

 **/*\**

" **What do you have to do to a man to make** _ **me**_ **the nice one?"** **That has to definitely be one of my favorite lines the Warden has spoken.**

 **I have no idea which manga/game it's from though.**

 **Hope you enjoyed!**

 **-Static**


End file.
